


Tomorrow

by Lioness25



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: 'Delington'(I refuse to call this paring 'Braz'), Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hints of Past Self-Harm, Hints of Substance Abuse, Love, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension, hints of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lioness25/pseuds/Lioness25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>''...His foot continues to caress mine. My heart keeps pounding.''<br/>''...I gather myself. He's giving me a chance. It's now or never.''</p><p> </p><p>Brad's struggle to confess his feelings for Chester; a confession which could either open the door to a new, beautiful relationship, or destroy everything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queen Celestia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Queen+Celestia).



> I have been a Linkin Park fan from the very beginning; they were an obsession in my early teens, and remain an integral part of my life still, today. 
> 
> Obviously--as for so many other fans--Chester was, and is my favorite! Mike being a close second. And so, the typical 'Bennoda' pairing was and is, what I generally think of when considering Linkin Park fiction pieces.  
> Not of course, that I don't like the other guys--I do--but I never really considered writing a fiction with Chester paired to anyone by Mike.
> 
> But, my friend, the darling Queen Celestia, who has always been a Brad fan, suggested from time to time, the idea of putting Brad with Chester...  
> An idea that is not without merit, or base, as Brad IRL seems rather adoring of Chester.  
> So, finally, I thought for a change, it might be a fun idea to play with...
> 
> This piece being the result; a peice which started as something that was never supposed to be more than 2,500 words, and bloomed into something closer to 20,000! Once I got going, I loved writing about the two of them!!  
> (Don't get me wrong, I'm still a ardent Bennoda lover! But this was just about as cute and perfect a pairing in the end! At least to me.) 
> 
> *Also, the events/'fact's' herein are, obviously fiction, and may or may not have any base IRL...some do, some don't...but it's all still utterly fiction! 
> 
> For the purposes of this piece, I've left Mike unmarried...maybe divorced, I wasn't super clear. I've also implied Joe is single; Rob and Dave are married.  
> I've also omitted all children...as in, Chester, though he is implied to have had relationships with both Talinda and Samantha, did not have children with them. It's just a personal thing I have when I do RPF's, I prefer not to drag kids into things. (Not that I dislike fics that do this.) 
> 
> The timeline setting is a VERY loose 2013ish...*

 

 

 

Tomorrow: that elusive place, wherein dwells an infinite well of possibilities. It is also the procrastinators’ best friend. It is so much easier, to wait, to put it off; to always shove whatever it might be, to that place, that wonderful realm where it might be possible, it might happen…But, always _tomorrow_ …

...

To say I liked him would be an understatement. What was there not to like? Well, ok, I suppose I could come up with a few things. I mean, yeah, he did… _does_ …have some rather annoying, at least at times, personality quirks. But to me, it never mattered, or bugged me much.

 I’ve openly admitted that I think he is a musical genius, and that I admire and look up to him. I’ve even let inner desires slip sometimes; always subtle and always easily laughed off, and almost never, so no one ever wondered, or noticed.

There were always just too many complications; first, and probably most insurmountable, was when I first met him, he was married. I’m sorry to say, this didn’t entirely stop me from making vague hints, and occasional, nearly imperceptible advances on him.

I’m also sorry to admit I was kind of happy when the marriage failed. He was miserable yes, but not as miserable as he’d been when he and Samantha were together. I was relieved, actually.

Then came a very worrying time a few years ago, involving a Playboy model named Talinda; I was probably more worried about this development, or ‘complication’ above all others. It seemed like he was really going to marry her, that he was in love with her…

But, thankfully for me, she cheated on him. I feel wretched for admitting that, for being so selfish. He was pretty broken afterwards, and it was Mike of course who picked up the pieces, while I sat on the sidelines, pathetically wishing him failure in his romantic pursuits, while never putting myself forward.

This leads to the second problem. The problem I have with myself, and by extension my family; none of whom would understand my feelings. And sometimes, I wasn’t sure I understood them either. But, understood or not, they never went away. I really couldn’t say when I knew for sure I was attracted to guys; it sort of developed subtly, but was hardly thought about, and rarely acted upon. At least until Chester came into my life. I couldn’t stop thinking then. But, only thinking…never acting…

Another complication was Mike.

I was pretty sure he didn’t have any _real_ feelings for Chester, but I couldn’t be sure. After all, I pretended I didn’t either. Especially as some of the things I caught them at over the years, were borderline flirtatious; even if it was largely initiated by Chester, and playfully indulged by Mike.

Even so, I was never completely sure about Chester’s sexual orientation. He seemed pretty open, and by open, I mean he wasn’t above cornering Mike from time to time and trying for a kiss, or a grope at the very least. Occasionally even I’ve been on the receiving end of some pretty…uh… _warm_ hugs and playful grabs.

I kept wanting to make my move, to put myself forward, before someone took my chance. But I was afraid. I was afraid to admit to myself that I felt the way I did. I was afraid of rejection. So, it always got put off, always to tomorrow, or the next tour…

Well, over a decade’s worth of tomorrows have come and gone now, and I’m still sitting here, in my cage of questions, and possibilities, of what _might_ be, what _could_ be….that have bled on so long, unvoiced, that they feel more like a strange mix of fantasy blurred to nightmare.

Fate, however, seems to have intervened; as though all my longing, all my dreams, have gone out into the ether for the past fourteen years, and now, finally, a chance, a clear opportunity…and I’m terrified to reach out and grab it.

We’re in Paris. How fitting, how _tacky_ …’The City of Love’ and all…

Mike and Chester were supposed to be in a room together as usual. But this morning, Mike woke up with a fever, and was puking half an hour later. He went to the doctor, and it’s nothing more than either a mild stomach flu or slight food poisoning.

Our next show isn’t for a few days, so he ought to be better.

Anyway, the benefit for me is that Chester moved out of his and Mike’s room, the second he could this morning, and into _mine_. Well, it was mine and Rob’s, but he’s been bumped, and gets a room to himself. Honestly, I’m shocked that Chester wouldn’t have elected to have a room of his own!

Though, I know he has nightmares…and being alone in the dark, when you’ve woken from your own personal abyss can’t be very comforting.

…

I’m lying on my bed, the room is dark. I’m at odds with myself, sunk in a well of indecision. I listen to the faint chatter of voices and occasional sprinkles of laughter from the street below. Somewhere out there, Chester, and the other guys, except for Mike are having dinner.

They probably think I’m getting sick too. _Shit_.

But, I’m just too nervous. I’ve never felt like this before. I mean, I could ruin the band…ruin my friendships…everything…

What if I’ve read the whole situation wrong all these years? What if Chester really has no feelings…no preferences for men…for _me…?_

Could I handle that?

How would it go?

I somehow drag the truth out of myself…I confess my feelings to him…then what?

Does his mouth curl into that cheeky smile I can hardly resist? Or does it curl into a snarl of disgust and distain?

Do his dark, lively eyes light up in delight and surprise, or do they harden in anger and hatred?

I can’t stand to know…

I can’t put it off any longer.

…

My stomach clenches as I hear voices outside my door, Chester’s laugh makes my throat tighten, the sound of the keycard, and the faint beep as the door opens makes my hands feel cold and shaky.

The light from the hall floods the room for a moment, as Chester pauses half in the room and half out; the final snatches of the guys’ conversation punctuates the pounding anxiety in my chest. Chester calls a final, playful insult, then enters the room; I smile, despite my fear. His energy is truly something magical. Angry, happy, and everything in between, you feel it immediately, his life and his feelings fill wherever he is.

Just one of the many things I adore about him.

Still muttering to himself, I listen as he goes into the bathroom, flicking on the light. I squint slightly, and prop myself on my elbow. I listen to him turn on the taps, no doubt washing his hands. That is one thing I like a little less about him; his obsession with cleanliness, bordering on disorder level. But only because it makes me a little worried about him. He’s replaced the alcohol and drugs with hand washing; like swapping out cyanide for arsenic.

He appears in the doorway, silhouetted from the light of the bathroom. He leans on the doorframe, an arm on each side, his expression unreadable, only a faint reflection off his glasses from the light coming in the window.

‘’Did I wake you up?’’ He asks, tilting his hips to the left, taking the weight off his leg. Yes, the injury streak continues: this time, a sprained ankle in Germany last week.

Another little trait of his that worries me; a few years ago, a broken wrist, and a punctured lip, all on the same tour, now his damn ankle.

‘’No,’’ I hear myself answer, out of my whirling storm of indecision and stress. 

He rocks himself forward a little, testing his weight on his foot, before dropping his arms, and stepping into the room.

‘’Why didn’t you come with us?’’ he asks, as he strips out of his coat, allowing me to catch a breath of his cologne, which only tightens the knots in my stomach further, and makes my tongue feel like paper.

‘’You’re not getting sick are you?’’ he adds, not letting me answer, not that I could. When I don’t respond right away, or laugh, or do anything, he looks over his shoulder giving me a critical look, one that makes the blood pound in my ears.

‘’I…I don’t think so…’’ I stammer, hating that I sound so stupid and that I can’t seem to get myself under control.

He looks at me for a moment longer, then flashes me a true Chester smile, showing his slightly crooked teeth.

‘’Good, because I brought you a present!’’ he chirps, tossing his jacket to the bed, moving to pick up a small white cardboard box from the mahogany table by the door.

I make myself sit up, and force my hand to be steady as I extend it, accepting the parcel from him. He waits seemingly nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like a kid worried about some little thing he’d made being good enough; it was adorable.

Inside I find a slice of cake, _fancy_ cake. It has chocolate curls on top and a large strawberry, glazed and sparkling in the bathroom light. A faint smile pulls at my mouth, as I looked up at him. ‘’What?’’ he asks ‘’I had some at dinner, it was good, so I got you a slice, so you wouldn’t miss out…’’

‘’Thanks,’’ I say, setting it on the bedside table, giving it another glance, before turning my attention back to him. He seems unsure about his action.

See what I mean about his mood? You can feel each one, as they turn, he can’t ever hide them, or pretend he doesn’t feel a certain way.

‘’Are you _sure_ you’re not sick?’’ he pushes, covering, or trying to cover his insecurity over the cake, ‘’why were you just laying here in the dark?’’

‘’I dunno,’’ I mutter, ‘’tired I guess…’’

He sits beside me on the bed, pressing the back off his hand to my forehead. It feels cool, and smells faintly of the rosy soap from the bathroom.

His other hand grabs my face, tilting it up; he peers at me, and I wish he wouldn’t, our faces are inches apart. I can feel his breath on my lips...

 ‘’I guess you’re alright,’’ he decides, removing his hands from my face and his proximity from my body.

I miss it already…

‘’Really, thanks for the cake,’’ I say.

 I receive only a shrug in response.

Standing beside his own bed again, he begins to strip out of his shirt, moving quickly on to his pants.

I watch impassively; while on the inside I feel longing and desire that is almost painful.

…

I listen to the water in the shower, as I try and eat the cake. It’s delicious, but I hardly taste it. I’m at odds with myself again… _always_ …

I think of his lithe form, so similar to my own, except better, more toned, and with a little more muscle; the way his checkered underwear clung to his firm butt, fitting tightly over his narrow, almost boney hips, as well, of course, clinging to the contours of what was in front.

I also think about how he is likely scrubbing his thin body raw.

Biting my inner lip snaps me out of my tangled thoughts. I wince, and lick at the blood, which mingles unpleasantly with the sweet of the cake.

I hear the pelting drum of water cease, and I quickly stuff the last few spoonful’s of cake in my mouth, swallowing in a lump.

…

 _‘’I’m certainly not getting any younger,’’_ was the thought that went through Chester’s mind, as he wiped his hand across the condensation clouded mirror, and gazed at his reflection; one that he would never fully stop hating, at least on some level.

He briskly dried himself, while keeping an eye on his reflection, in the ever clearing mirror.

‘Scrawny’, ‘pale’, ‘ugly’…were all words that came to mind as he gazed at himself. While things like ‘damaged,’ ‘failure’ and ‘freak,’ all came up as he thought about himself.

Sighing heavily he forced his gaze away, as he pulled on clean underwear and a white undershirt, the action of raising his arms causing a twinge of pain in his shoulder, and down into his back. He rotated the joint irritably. Just what he needed, more pain.

 It was hard, being admired; being this person, this ‘god’ put on a pedestal, made into something he wasn’t, into something, someone, he never saw himself as. Yes, over the years he had opened up about his pain, let the secrets out…but it hadn’t made anyone understand any better. No, if anything it made them admire him _more_.

His thoughts shifted slightly; there was another person, one right in the next room, who also held an unhealthy level of admiration for him.

Chester smirked, then frowned.

There was something going on with Brad, and not just tonight’s oddness. He’d been closed, locked inside himself for days. It had been one of the reasons he’d let Rob have the room of his own.

He felt he owed it to Brad, after all the years of concern, support and… _love_ …to try and find out what was going on.

Brad was basically just where he’d left him before taking his shower. Only that he was sitting up in bed, with the lamp on, reading a magazine. Chester moved over to his own bed and picked up his jacket, digging in the pocket for his packet of cigarettes.

He glanced at Brad out of the corner of his eye. He still seemed unusually subdued. Noting with a small smirk, that the magazine he was browsing through was Vogue.

‘’Didn’t think that was your sort of publication. Shopping for a wife?’’ inquired Chester, walking to the balcony, his hand pausing on the sliding door, as he looked over his shoulder at Brad.

Brad looked up, setting the magazine on his lap, a quizzical expression on his face.

‘’You know, a _model_ , some hot girl to be your wife?’’ Chester explained with only a tinge of condescension.

Brad smiled slowly, ‘’it isn’t,’’ he said quietly, ‘’and no, I’m not ‘wife shopping’, that’s more a Mike and Joe thing.’’

Chester laughed, ‘’yeah, I suppose. Hey, wanna smoke?’’

Brad’s expression hardened slightly. ‘’You know I don’t smoke. And _you_ shouldn’t either. It’ll ruin your singing ability in the end you know…’’

‘’Yeah, yeah _mom_!’’ huffed Chester teasingly, as he slid open the glass door, and stepped out into the chilly night.

…

I shook my head, watching as Chester lit up the little white stick of death; the end of it glowing brightly for a moment as he drew a lungful of poison into his body.

A mom was exactly what he needed, I reflected, turning my attention away from his slender, shadowy form, leaning against the railing, blowing smoke rings into the glittery Parisian night, and back to the glossy pages of Vogue.

I knew Chester had a distinct deficit in the nurturing department. His mother, in my opinion, at least, in the opinion I had formed from things I’d overheard, was severely lacking in the skills required to be endowed with such a title.

My jaw clenched at the thought of her basically abandoning him to his workaholic father, and the mercies of a perverted, sexually abusive ‘friend.’ Only to swoop back into his life years later, and then be critical of his damaged, drug ravaged state. Her solution being to put him under what amounted to house arrest; while she effectively continued to abandon him, as she worked long hours at the hospital, helping other peoples’ children, while he son sunk deeper still into drugs and alcohol.  

I turned the page with a snap of aggression, tearing it slightly.

My own mother, by contrast was basically perfect, everything the stereotypical mother should be: kind and loving; the right blend of discipline, and indulgence. A person who’d taught me empathy, and good moral values, of kindness, compassion and generosity.

But, she didn’t know about my sexual preferences…no one did.

Would all those years of love evaporate when she found out?

Deep down, I knew they wouldn’t.

I gazed at the model on the page. She was boringly pretty, like many of the others, with a somewhat vacant expression on her airbrushed face. Her legs in their tight jeans were unhealthily slender; the bold pattern on the bulky jacket she wore overwhelming the shot, as though she was just the accessory to _it_ ; not a person at all, just a mannequin.

Sadly, it was probably the case.

Flipping through a couple more pages, and finding only more of the same starved, vacant women I gave up trying to pretend I was remotely interested and closed the magazine, tucking it back into the cubby on the bedside table.

My gaze flicking instead to the real thing I was interested in. I leaned back and put my arms behind my head, the anxiety stirring in the pit of my stomach again, as I slowly looked Chester’s dimly lit form over.

The truth was I had no idea how to move forward. I had this perfect opportunity, but no real clue what I should do to best use it.

I listened to Chester cough, the sound making an involuntary frown crease my face. He was so self-destructive; with good reason I supposed, but it didn’t make it any less upsetting.

At last, with my thoughts chasing themselves into knots that were enough to give me a migraine, I got up, and decided to get ready for bed.

Slowly I stripped out of my jeans, and the shirt I’d been in all day. It felt good to get out of my clothes; they seemed soaked in the pall of misery and indecision that had plagued me all day. I pulled on a loose shirt to wear for the night, and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

When I’d finished, I momentarily scrutinized myself in the mirror. I was attractive I supposed. Certainly I wasn’t ugly. But I wasn’t Mike either. Of course I wasn’t! What a stupid thought. There really wasn’t any way to compare our looks; Mike was certainly cute, every fangirl screamed as much at every show, and at any appearance.

Personality wise though, Mike won hands down. He was _fun_. I, by comparison was borderline boring; often quiet, mostly restrained; lacking in spontaneity and rarely one to joke and make a spectacle of myself. Was I enough the way I was, to keep Chester interested? He’d seemed to enjoy the juggling lesson I’d tried to give him a couple weeks ago…

Irritated once more at my snarled thoughts, I switched off the light, and left the bathroom.

…

Chester took one last deep drag off his cigarette, closing his eyes, letting the calming nicotine sooth down his ever present anxiety. He exhaled, blowing the smoke out in one breath through his nose, and then coughed.

Brad was right of course, smoking was bad. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew it was, everyone knew it was. But it was better than the hard stuff of days past.

Better than the nights he’d drunk himself sick, back in the old Hybrid Theory days.

A soft smile curled his lips as he remembered one of those occasions. Brad going all ‘mother hen’, when he’d found him passed out in a puddle of his own sick, well after Mike’s curfew.

Chester rolled his eyes at the memory of _that_ part. Damn Mike. So fucking compulsive and organized it was painful. He was glad he’d relinquished some of those tendencies with the passing of the years.

His thoughts moved back to the Brad part of the memory.

He’d been _livid!_ Well, in the most restrained, loving way, but pissed all the same. It had been a struggle for him to get him up, and drag him back to the bus. With the two of them in the bathroom it had been cramped, and Chester vaguely recalled with a tinge of distaste that he’d been alternately sobbing, then verbally abusive to Brad.

Brad however, hadn’t seemed to care, just firmly and efficiently getting him cleaned up. All the noise had of course woken up the others. And Mike in particular had been upset, and had taken over the rescue mission, rather rudely, Chester reflected, dismissing Brad.

Yes, good old Mike. The glue that held them all together, that had held _him_ together all these years. Both a source of comfort and frustration; years earlier, he’d tried to get Mike to give him what he _really_ had wanted, hoped that they could share…

But, it just wasn’t on. Mike was straight, not bi like he was; and nothing Chester had done changed that. At times, Chester supposed, his advances on Mike, knowing his sexual orientation, could almost be classified as sexual harassment.

Mike was just too nice for his own good. Suffering the occasional kiss, and overly loving caress in a manner that was both stoically patient, and indulgent; Chester had no doubt Mike loved him, but not in a way that would allow them to ever ‘go to bed together.’

Starting to shiver, Chester shook himself out of his drifting memories and thoughts, to re-enter the room.

…

Chester was just stepping back into the room. He slid the door shut, and pulled the cord to shut the curtains.

‘’I’m just going to check on Mike really quick,’’ he said, walking forward with a slight limp. I opened my mouth to reply, when he tripped, stumbling forward, managing to catch himself on my bed with one arm, and landing on his knees.

I rushed forward, as he loosed a violent string of curses.

‘’Goddamn fucking foot!!’’ he screeched, slamming a fist into the puffy white duvet, before pushing himself upright, still cursing, but making to move forward again.

‘’Wait…you can’t go check on Mike like this…’’ I protested.

‘’I’m going…’’ he insisted, taking another limping step forward, not managing to hide the wince.

‘’No, ‘’ I said simply. ‘’You’re going to brush your teeth, and get into bed.’’

Chester stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to scream at me. But his face twisted into a lopsided, sort of bemused smile.

‘’Oh, _mommy_ , I think I need you to help me…’’ he half taunted, turning away from me, but all the same,  moved toward the bathroom.

‘’Fine, I will. Clearly you need it,’’ I replied sarcastically.

I looped my arm around his waist, settling my hand firmly on his hip, and guided him forward. I felt him resisting, but after a couple steps, he relaxed against me, and accepted my help.

He leaned against the counter, as I dug through his bag, finding his toothbrush, and toothpaste. I applied the paste, and handed the loaded brush to him, noting the amused glimmer in his eyes, which made my mouth go a little dry.

Lazily he took the proffered brush, and thoroughly scrubbed his teeth. While I stood to the side, with my arms folded, watching.

When he’d finished, I secured my arm around him again, and walked him over to his bed. This time, he didn’t resist, leaning fully against me, his warmth something I felt starved for…

We detached all too soon.

He settled himself beneath the covers, and looked up at me with a sly little grin.

‘’What?’’ I asked, as he took his glasses off, and again gazed at me with sparkling eyes, and that smirk.

‘’I need a goodnight kiss,’’ he purred, looking at me rather piercingly.

My heart pounded, and my throat felt tight; a warmth rose in my cheeks. Why the hell had I decided to shave? I could’ve used more beard, there was no way Chester would miss my blush.

My eyes dropped involuntarily to his thin, slightly parted lips, his silver labret glinting in the soft light. Quickly I snapped my gaze back to his eyes; they were positively twinkling with amusement…and maybe…maybe something more…

Moments felt like hours. I was frozen. My heart was hammering…

But then…

‘’I’m going to check on Mike,’’ I heard myself mutter, turning and walking blindly from the room, having the presence of mind to grab my keycard on the way out, as the door shut with a firm click behind me.

…

Chester sighed, and snuggled into the bed. A shiver tingled up his spine. He’d stayed outside too long.

Poor Brad. He’d probably scared him off; he was _so_ shy when it came to anything intimate. One of the reasons he’d so rarely ‘assaulted’ him the way he did Mike. At first he’d thought that it was simply because he was just too straight to have any sense of humor in regards to advances of any kind from another guy.

But gradually, _very_ gradually, over the course of time, he’d come to the conclusion that quite the opposite might be true.

Brad _did_ like guys…and not just _any_ guys…Brad liked _him_. But was just too shy to do anything about it.

So, with that little incident of a few moments ago, Chester felt like he had proof. If his theory was true, Brad had given himself away by running off; rather than, as Mike would have done, simply given him a longsuffering kiss on the forehead, and then switched off the light and gone to bed.

No blush, no nerves…no running away.

Intrigued, Chester raised himself on his elbow and turned off the lamp, cuddling as deeply into his bed as he could. He would be patient, see how this would all play out.

Brad had certainly been a good friend, and now, the idea that he might want more filled Chester with a prickle of excitement.

Interesting…very, _very_ interesting.

…

I stood in the hall for several moments, leaning against the wall, heart hammering.

My fists clenched, and unclenched. _I’d run away_. How could I have just run away like that?

He’d offered the very thing I’ve always most wanted. I’d lost my chance, or at least I felt I had. Even if it had been a joke, I might have been able to show him, to convince him, that it could have been more; that I wanted to offer him _more_.

My head snapped up as I heard a door open. I pushed myself off the wall, and then with a plunge of embarrassment, realized I was only in my boxers and  t-shirt.

Damn it.

I was frozen in place a moment, debating dashing off, or back into the room…

But, as I looked in the direction of the noise, I saw Mike stepping out into the hall. He was wrapped in a blanket, and appeared to wear a hoodie underneath it.

I quickly walked toward him, making him pause just outside his doorway.

His normally warm, caramel-hued skin, was pale, and had a greyish tinge to it. Typically bright, his dark eyes seemed dull behind his glasses he wore in place of his usual contacts.

‘’What’s going on?’’ he asked, his voice was quiet, and seemed a little strained, and hoarse.

I herded him gently backwards into his room, and shut the door behind us.

‘’Why are you out of bed?’’ I countered, ignoring his query for the moment. I needed time to think. I needed an answer, that didn’t convey the truth.

‘’I…I heard Ches yelling, so I thought I’d check…’’ murmured Mike, his shoulders sagging a little.

‘’Sit down, before you fall down,’’ I softly commanded, encouraging him back to his bed, satisfied as he plonked back onto the edge of it.

He looked at me blearily.

‘’Brad…’’

‘’He’s fine,’’

‘’But…’’

‘’He tripped, and tweaked his ankle,’’

‘’So, why were you in the hall?’’

‘’I…I…was coming to check if you had a bandage to wrap it with.’’

‘’Oh,’’ said Mike, looking unconvinced.

‘’And also, to check up on you; Chester wanted to, but I insisted he get into bed.’’

Mike raised an eyebrow, ‘’and he _listened?’’_

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Wow…maybe we should make him room with you all the time.’’

A surge of anxiety and delight shot through me thinking about _that_ prospect, but I shoved it to the farthest corner of my mind.

‘’So, you’re sure he’s alright?’’ Croaked Mike, his worry bordering on the mother-like obsessive making me sigh inwardly.

‘’Yes, I’m sure he’s fine,’’ I answered firmly, thinking about his teasing smile, and request of moments ago.

‘’How are _you?_ ’’ I pushed instead, watching Mike shiver slightly, clutching his blanket tighter to his hunched form.

‘’Oh…I’m alright I guess…’’

‘’You’re not,’’ I say firmly.

He looked at me vaguely. ‘’Well, I should be alright _soon_ …’’ he amends. ‘’I am a little cold…’’ he adds.

Without further comment, I go into the bathroom, and dig the hot water bottle out from under the sink. I run the hot tap until I can see tendrils of steam.

Mike gratefully takes the warm, rubbery bottle I offer him.

‘’Thanks Braddles,’’

I smirk at the mention of my nickname; my cutie-fied nickname. _Chester’s_ nickname for me; Big Bad Brad just wasn’t suitable for him.

‘’No problem,’’

I watch as he weakly settles himself back under his covers, happily clutching the pink bottle.

‘’So, does he have a bandage for his ankle?’’ I ask, returning to my half-a- lie excuse for my presence in the hall.

‘’Yeah…I think he did…the medic in Germany gave him one…’’

‘’Do you know where it is?’’

‘’No; you could check his stuff, he might have it still.’’

Mike’s voice seems weaker.

‘’Alright I will. You need to rest; I’ll come check on you again in the morning, alright? Or, phone my room if you need something…”

‘’Kaaaaayyyy…’’ Mike yawned, removing his glasses, and adjusting the hot water bottle.

I make sure he’s completely settled, and then leave his room, to make my slow walk back to my own room.

My walk gets a little faster when a woman pokes her head out a door a little ways up the hall, and gives me a half-scandalized half-amused look, before snapping something at me in French. When I don’t answer, she mutters something that sounds remarkably like ‘ _’idiotic_ _foreigners_!’’ And slams her door.

The room is completely dark as I enter, and silent as the grave.

I set my keycard on the table, and slowly creep over to my bed. Easing myself down, and pulling the duvet up, I listen to the silence; gradually picking up Chester’s soft exhales.

Releasing a rather heavy exhale of my own, I suffer in the bleakness of my lost chance. As always it seems, my desires will have to wait until tomorrow…and it’s no one’s fault but my own. Like always.

…

‘‘I’m cold.’’

I opened my eyes, gazing into the darkness. Not more than fifteen minutes can have passed since I came back and got into bed. Apparently Chester was never asleep, or only requires Jack Russell terrier length naps. It’s probably both, he’s never been a good sleeper.

_‘’Braaddd…’’_

I sighed. On the one hand it was cute, and on the other, slightly annoying. My thoughts moved back to my earlier musings about mothering, or in his case the lack thereof.

It wasn’t just the love component that was missing. He’d been allowed to whine and wheedle; clearly this was also a result of Mike’s indulgent ways, as much as the lack of a healthy maternal figure.

But, lucky for him, he is so damn cute that I was willing to play the game. My heart thumped a little, this might be my opening…since I’d blown my earlier chance…walking out on his invitation ‘for a goodnight kiss.’

‘’Why didn’t you wear a coat?’’ I asked tiredly, feigning indifference and disinterest.

‘’A coat?’’

‘’When you were outside…smoking…’’

‘’I don’t know. C’mon Brad, I’m fucking freezing!’’

I smile. Thanking whatever Gods might be out there; I still have some kind of chance.

‘’It’s probably because you wouldn’t kiss me!’’ He says, and I can hear the pout in his voice, matching the one that is likely on his face. ‘’I was frozen by your cold, cold heart!’’

Sighing, suitably dramatic, and resigned, I pretend to give in, ‘’Fine, what do you want me to do about it?’’

He giggles, and my stomach contracts warmly at the sound.

‘’Well, either you’re getting in with me, or I’m getting in with you.’’

‘’Hurry up then,’’ I mutter, still feigning annoyance.

I watch as he throws his covers back and eases himself to his feet; moving slowly across the room, a darker shape against the grey gloom. Clearly still favoring his foot, as he limps around the end of my bed. I force myself to remain calm as he pulls the covers back, and slips beneath them. The bed shifts and rocks a little, as he settles himself. His hand brushes against my arm, and his knee bumps my thigh.

At last, the disruptive movement ceases, and I don’t know what to do next. My mind is sort of jammed, taking in the fact Chester is actually beside me; in _bed_ , beside me…

Before I can think any further, or make any kind of decision or move, he cuddles up to me, and for a while I am still unsure what to do with myself. Gradually relaxing and enjoying the reality of what is happening.

His arm is a pleasant, comforting weight across my chest; the soft, warm exhales against my cheek make me want to turn my head, and kiss him.

A smile pulled at my mouth, and for the first time in days, a sense of ease began to spread through me, starting with a warmth in the pit of my stomach, spreading up to my chest, and out to my limbs, replacing the cloying, maddening dreariness of indecision.

‘’Better?’’ I murmur after a few minutes have ticked by.

‘’Mmmhmm,’’ comes the answering, sleepy mumble beside my left ear.

I wait then, I listen, until I am sure Chester is asleep. His breathing has deepened, and he has ceased all movement.

Slowly I curl my fingers over the back of his loosely closed fist, resting on my chest. I explore the delicate, yet strong contours of his bones for a few moments, and then let my fingers settle gently over his.

Next, I carefully turn my head. In the gloom, I can’t make out much in the way of features, but it doesn’t matter. I know every inch of his face from memory. Hesitating a second longer, before I press my lips to his forehead, in the ghost of a kiss.

‘’There, ‘’ I whisper, ‘’my heart isn’t as cold as you thought. Sweet dreams.’’

I linger there for a few moments, inhaling his scent, drinking in his warmth, my emotions mixing and fighting again: anger at my years of pathetic indecision mingling with the elation, the joy of this moment, this chance.

At last, with one final kiss, I settle back down, and close my eyes, even though I know I won’t really be sleeping. This might be all the time with Chester, time shared like _this_ , I ever get….

…

It certainly wasn’t a feeling he was used to. In fact, it was completely foreign. He felt _safe_. Safe, and completely relaxed. How had he never noticed this about Brad before?

 _Because you were too busy with your empty chase, for what Mike could never give you,_ snapped the answering thought.

Sure, he’d cuddled up to Mike before, lots of times in fact, but he’d never felt like _this_. There had always been tension, always a sense of discomfort on Mike’s part, and disappointment on his own.

But now, with Brad…it felt… _right_.

The _tenderness_ that seemed to emanate from him, both in that kiss, and the way he’d caressed his hand was really quite touching…

He felt like he could really relax, let go, be completely calm. He felt _secure_. Like he didn’t need to force himself, or cover his anxiety with often outrageous behavior.

He could just… _be_.

Smirking softly, he moved a little closer to Brad. The younger man had a lot to learn about his sleeping habits however; he was good at pretending things, all kinds of things, being deeply asleep included.

…

As I’d anticipated, I hardly slept. And the light of dawn, poking its way, with unwanted insistence through any gap or crevice was a very unwelcome sight and intrusion, and came all too soon.

Chester was still snuggled pretty close, lying on his side, but with all his limbs collected to himself; elbows and knees loosely tucked.

I gazed at him for a while. In the dim, dewy light of the slowly brightening room, he looked incredibly peaceful…and _young_. Now approaching forty, he looked little different than he had at twenty-three, when he’d come into our lives… _my_ life.

I glanced at the clock. It was barely 7:30. I knew I should try and sleep a little more, but I knew it would be futile.

Carefully I got out of the bed, stretching lightly, before wandering over to my suitcase. I selected a black and white striped t-shirt, and some dark blue jeans. With fresh underwear, and my chosen clothes on, I raked my fingers through my curly hair, which was a more manageable length at the moment.

These actions all completed, I elected to check up on Mike.

The hall was completely quiet, as noiseless I padded down the densely carpeted hall. Knocking softly on Mike’s door, and waiting several minutes for the answer.

He opened the white door a few inches, peering out through squinted eyes. Seeing it was me, he opened it wider, letting me step in.

‘’Sorry to wake you up…’’ I whispered, not really sure why I felt I should.

‘’S’alright…’’ He muttered, rubbing the heel of one hand against his eyes. I was pleased to see, even in the dim of the room, that his color was greatly improved from last night. The grey tinge seemed to have gone, and the pallor had been replaced by a more normal, healthy golden-brown hue.

‘’Feeling any better?’’ I asked, deciding verbal conformation was best.

Mike sat back on the edge of his bed, ‘’yeah, better than yesterday…’’ his voice was still weak.

‘’Do you need anything?’’

He thought for a moment, ‘’No, just to sleep…’’ he muttered, lying back down.

‘’How’s Chester? Did he sleep?’’

‘’He’s fine, and yes, he slept.’’

‘’Really? All night?’’

‘’Yeah, he seemed to.’’

‘’In his _own_ bed?’’ Mike sounded mildly incredulous.

Sensing my pause, he laughed softly, ‘’Sorry Brad. I bet that meant you didn’t sleep then…’’

‘’Oh, no I slept too…’’ Well, I sort of had, but any lack of sleep had not been because of anything Chester had done to prevent it, at least not directly.

Mike only gave a half mumble in response, then, ‘’wow…I’m really surprised. Well, seeing as how I still basically feel like shit, and you seem to get on so well, he’s going to be your problem, at least until I’m better…’’

I smiled softly. Chester would never be a ‘ _problem_.’ ‘’That’s fine,’’

Mumbling something else incoherent, and pulling his duvet back around himself, I moved to leave the room, calling a ‘’make sure you eat something later,’’ over my shoulder as I closed the door.

I encountered Phi in the hall, with a rather sour expression on his face, and a slight flush on his freckled cheeks.

‘’Joe’s being an ass,’’ he groused, ‘’I was trying to skype Lindsay, and he threatened to chuck my laptop out the window if I didn’t stop. I mean, it’s not even that early!’’

‘’Well, it’s not even eight…’’ I pointed out, earning a glare. ‘’Well too damn bad,’’ he grumbled.

‘’How’s Mike?’’ He asked, abruptly changing subjects for a moment, looking at me with concerned blue eyes. ‘’He’s better. _Way_ better than last night. I think he plans on sleeping the rest of the day.’’

‘’Probably for the best,’’ Phi reflected, tucking his laptop more tightly under his arm.

‘’You could try waking Rob up,’’ I suggested, nodding at the door beside his  and Joes, ‘’he shouldn’t bite too hard, or bitch too loud…’’

‘’No, he sleeps like the dead, he probably won’t even answer. I’m going down to the lobby, and I’ll see if they can find some cubby for me to have privacy in.’’

I laughed, ‘’well good luck then.’’ Phi frowned, ‘’thanks.’’

‘’See you later…’’

With a vague wave over his shoulder, Phoenix strode away down the hall, around the corner and out of sight.

…

Upon my return, I found Chester awake, and out on the balcony smoking once again. Moving to the side of his bed, I dug in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the box of cigarettes. There were five left. I resisted the urge to rip them up and chuck them.

It wouldn’t matter, he’d only buy more. As well as be pissed at me for interfering. So, with a sigh, I put them back where I’d found them. Turning my attention instead to his suitcase, digging for the supposedly existing ankle bandage.

Moments into the endeavor, I regretted it. His clothes, all of them, clean or not, smelled like him; that mix of musk, vetiver, and something spicy, like cloves; earthy, and natural, blending with his own unique sent. It was marred slightly by the faint whiff of chemical, cloying smoke.

 Yet, it still made me feel a little faint; torn somewhere between abandoning my search and the urge to grab the first article of clothing that came to hand, and press it to my face.

But, I did neither. Outwardly showing nothing, as I continued my search, finally locating the wadded bandage, abandoned in the furthest corner, unused and forgotten.

‘’What’re you doing?’’

I was glad the question held amusement, as I looked over my shoulder at Chester who was stepping back into the room.

I rose, presenting the bandage with a slightly scolding waggle of my hand, ‘’looking for _this._ ’’

Chester smirked, ‘’I’m fine Brad.’’

Folding my arms across my chest, I fixed him with a look; rewarded as he smiled a little guiltily, ‘ _’fine_ , I’ll wear my fucking bandage,’’ he muttered, limping over to his suitcase, digging through the clothes.

‘’So how come you’re up so early?’’

“I don’t know. Why are you?’’

Chester smirks at my deflection, ‘’because my snuggle buddy left me,’’ he murmurs, looking at me pointedly.

I swallow a little dryly, involuntarily biting the corner of my lip.

‘’Do you want to go get coffee or something?’’ I hear myself asking, trying to restore order, to steer us away from dangerous territory.

Chester laughs softly in response, ‘’sure, just let me shower first.’’

…

I waited patiently as he showered, feeling mildly pleased with myself, at my ability to get Chester to behave with minimum effort.

All smugness, and calm self-assurance evaporated however, when he strolled out of the bathroom nude.

I blushed, and had to look away.

Out of my periphery I watched as he selected a far more fashionable outfit than I’d ever pick for myself.

With his underwear on, I allowed myself to look back in his direction more fully.

‘’So, how’s Mike?’’ he asked causally, like he’d not just walked in naked moments before; a gesture a part of me sort of felt was deliberate… _inflammatory_. Well, if it was, it had worked; a vaguely uncomfortable tightness welling up between my legs, as I sat calmly on the edge of my bed, pretending to be unaffected.

‘’Doing better today than last night.’’

‘’But is he _OK?_ I mean, has he eaten? Is he getting enough fluids?’’

‘’I don’t think he’s eaten. I reminded him that he needs to. Mostly he just wants to sleep, which I think is best for now.’’

Chester quietly mulls this all over, pulling on a dark grey v neck shirt; the thin material clings attractively to his lithe frame. 

‘’Maybe…maybe, since he’s probably not contagious anymore--if he ever was—I should move back in with him, to make sure he’s alright…’’

My heart sinks. A horrible, helpless feeling washes over me at his words. Is he testing me? Or is he serious?

‘’Well,’’ I begin, hating that I sound so desperate, at least to my own ears, ‘’I don’t think that’s really necessary…’’

Chester looks at me with a slightly arched brow, as he pulls on some _very_ tight black jeans, which are both a torture and distraction, making me feel even more desperate to convince him to stay here…with me…

Hating myself in the same thought: it probably would be best to have him move back with Mike…just in case…to check up on him…

Then I remember…

‘’Actually, when I talked to Mike this morning, he was pretty clear that he just wanted to be left alone, to rest, and that you’d better stay here.’’

_‘’…he’s going to be your problem, at least until I feel better…’’_

I grinned on the inside, remembering Mike’s words.

Chester though, frowned, looking genuinely a little hurt. ‘’Really? He said that..?’’

The look melts my heart, and makes me feel a little bad for manipulating things for my personal gain. Assuming I can ever stop being a coward and act of course…

‘’Well, I don’t think he meant it in a bad way. I just think he’s super tired, and needs lots of rest before the show.’’

With a sigh, Chester pulls on an olive green military-esque jacket in a canvas material. It is embellished with brassy buttons and is a little frayed and tastefully ‘distressed.’ I frown involuntarily as he transfers his lighter and the dwindling packet of smokes from his black jacket to this one.

‘’I suppose,’’ he murmurs, slipping on a couple of rings, and then selecting a pair of lace-up combat-esque boots.

‘’C’mon,’’ I try, ‘’spending a few more days with me won’t be so bad, right?’’

Sitting on the edge of his bed he begins to fiddle with the bandage then pauses to look at me. A smile warming his mouth, before turning into a slightly cheeky grin. His eyes, with contacts in today, lock on mine, behind my glasses.

‘’No,’’ he purrs, making my cheeks feel a little warm, which only broadens his smile, and makes him giggle softly, before he turns his attention to putting his bandage on.

I clear my throat subtly, and swallow. My gaze moving to his sloppy efforts with the bandage. I slip off the edge of my bed, onto my knees, at his feet.

Our eyes meet again for a moment, before I pull his foot into my lap, and take the bandage from him.

His feet are as elegant as his hands: delicate bones, yet at the same time, strong and… _aristocratic_ …a word that could actually be applied to his physiology in general.

I smile to myself; glad that Chester can’t hear my thoughts, about his, to my mind, regal appendages.

The bandage is cheap, and generic. I hoped it would offer enough support, as I wound it tightly around his joint, in a triangular pattern, securing it with the little metal clips.

When I was done, I carefully fitted his sock over the bandage, and then guided his foot into the boot he was determined to wear, lacing it tight for extra support.

He’d watched the whole process in silence, but an intrigued one, one that felt like he was quietly pleased, and enjoying the attention.

…

I listen to Chester talking to Dave in the hall, as I pull on a dark grey zip-up hoodie, and slide my feet into my sneakers.  I silently implore Chester not to invite Dave, or Dave to invite himself…

Making sure I have my phone and my wallet I step into the hall. Instantly relieved as Dave is returning to his and Joe’s room, laptop tucked under his arm, but looking much cheerier than when I spoke to him earlier.

Clearly the hotel had accommodated him in talking to his wife.

Now, if only this day, and all the people in it, would accommodate _me_ in my desires.

Chester glanced over at me as I pulled the door shut. He looked beautiful; my thoughts drifting to fantasy, to a future, imagining him as my boyfriend.

‘’Ready?’’

“Yes.’’

He slid on a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, and we walked side by side down the hall.

I slipped my hands into my pockets, to still the desire to hold his hand. Strangely as I had the thought, and took measures not to act on it, I felt—for a second, so quickly I was sure it was imagined--a spark of disappointment from Chester, evidenced as his fingers brushed my thigh for a second, like he’d been reaching for my hand…

…

Finding a _patisserie_ in Paris isn’t hard. They seem to simply sprout from the cobbled streets, decorating every corner, sometimes with more than one in a single block.

Enticing smells wafted out to us as we walked. The streets were busy, but not uncomfortably congested. I was relieved to notice that we _weren’t_ noticed; we walked unhindered, only Chester receiving a few glances from fussy looking business-type men in suits.

They didn’t seem the sort of people likely to approve of piercings and sexy boots. But if Chester noticed, he gave no indication, walking down the street like he owned it.

 After about 10 minutes of walking, I realized Chester was no longer right by my side. Glancing over I found him walking a pace or so behind, following my lead.

Focusing back on the cobblestones I suppressed a grin. It felt nice that Chester so easily, naturally let me, accepted me to take the lead. He really was pretty submissive, despite his antics on stage and in front of media cameras.

Several streets and turns later, found the pedestrian traffic thinning to a mere trickle, and us standing outside the cutest, coziest little _patisserie_ I had yet seen.

Chester removed his sunglasses, and hooked them to the front of his shirt as he headed toward the door.

Good, he seemed to like it as much as I did.

Taking three quick, big strides, I reached the door before he did, and held it open for him, earning me a strange look, that couldn’t quite pretend it wasn’t a suppressed smile, before he looked away, taking in our new, delicious smelling surroundings.

Apparently our American-ness or at least foreignness was obvious--as within minutes of entering the shop, and wandering over to the enticing display cases, filled with an almost dizzying array of choices—a teenage girl in a red apron came bustling over.

She looked Chester quickly over, not seeming to know what to make of him, but kept her smile bright and firmly in place all the same. She turned her attention to me, then back to Chester, and if I wasn’t mistaken, even in the soft light I was sure her cheeks looked a little pink.

The whole silent, initial interaction only took seconds, not leaving time for any awkwardness.

‘’Bonjour,’’ she said brightly, addressing herself to me, more than to Chester.

‘’Bonjour,’’ we both replied. She seemed pleased at our ability to comprehend at least that much French.

‘’Do you wish assistance?’’ she asked in heavily accented English.

‘’No, thanks…’’ Chester said turning his attention back to the displays, seemingly engrossed by the variety.

She glanced at his profile, as he intently peered into the next display, and then looked back to me, eyebrows slightly raised.

‘’No, not yet,’’ I began, ‘’just give us a few minutes to look first.’’

‘’Very well,’’ she replied, still cheery, and perhaps amused.

I was about to join Chester, when she put her hand on my arm, I looked at her with mild surprise, half hoping she wasn’t a fan or something, which would make my attempt at seeking a slightly out of the way place a complete loss.  My confusion deepened as she smiled slyly, giving me a knowing sort of look, as she whispered:

‘’Est-il votre ami?’’

I tried to dredge up any long distant high school French…and failed…I knew only the most basic things.

Sensing my incomprehension, she tried again, in an ever quieter tone, glancing at the still browsing Chester, ‘’is he your…’’ she paused, thinking of the right word, ‘’boyfriend?’’

I smiled, then bit the inside of my cheek to suppress it.

‘’No,’’ I said, wishing her observation was correct…amused and horrified at her shrewdness, at her thoughts and assumptions mirroring my inner wishes. ‘’We’re just friends.’’

She seemed genuinely disappointed. Which seemed odd…shouldn’t she have been happy that was the case? So she would be free to hit on him or something?

‘’Ah, well…’’ she sighed, ‘’let me know when you wish to select.’’

‘’Thanks,’’

Smiling again, she gave me a nod, and walked back behind the main counter, to speak to with another girl also in a bright red apron, who had just finished serving a customer, but I noticed, had been watching us, and the whole exchange with distracted interest.

Sure enough, as the girl, ‘Adele’ according to her name tag got back behind the counter, the two of them began to jabber in rapid French, giving us covert looks, while pretending to tidy the boxes and display.

Somewhat amused myself, I moved back to Chester’s side.

‘’Have a fun chat?’’ he asked quietly, glancing up at me from a tray of thickly iced éclairs. ‘’Yeah, pretty fun…or _funny_ I guess you could say.’’

‘’What did you tell her ‘no’ for?’’ he whispered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

I stared at him. He looked back, calmly, amusedly.

‘’It would’ve been more fun you know? Mess with them a little…’’

‘’I…I didn’t think…’’ I finally stuttered out…feeling foolish, feeling _boring_ …if Mike had been here, he would’ve played along…would have teased…been fun…

Straightening himself all the way up, having reached the end of the display case, Chester faced me fully.

‘’It’s alright Brad. I just said it would have been more fun; this, being here with you, is fun anyway, don’t worry about it, alright?’’

I bit my lip but nodded, ‘’alright.’’

Chester smiled his full sunny smile then, and put his arm around my shoulders, which sparked a marked increase in the flow of talk behind the counter.

…

By the time we selected what we wanted, and were seated there were several customers waiting in line, being served by Adele, so it was the other girl, with blond hair in a high, neat bun who brought us our drinks, to go with the pastries we’d chosen.

The shop only sat about twelve people, and there were only four seats left. I was happy that we’d gotten the table at the back, cozied near the window, sort of out of sight of the rest of the shop.

The blonde girl, Madeline, set our cups down in front of us; black coffee for Chester, and tea for me.

She looked between us, seeming to hide a grin, her brown eyes sparkling. She seemed about to say something, when her attention was diverted by an elderly man who’d just come in the door.

With a quickly uttered ‘’enjoy,’’ and a knowing smirk, she went to his assistance, leaving us in peace.

Chester watched her retreating back, no doubt appreciating her slim form, as he took a sip of his coffee. But his ebony eyes quickly flicked back to my face, as he took another sip.

My fork—digging into my chocolate tartlet—skidded across the plate, as I felt Chester slowly slide the toe of his boot up the inside of my calf.

‘’What are you…?’’

‘’Having fun.’’

I swallowed, exhaled, and calmed myself. Why was I acting like this? It was so stupid…this was what I wanted…

I managed a smile, ‘’at my expense…’’ I teased, as Chester set his cup down, and picked up a pink macaron, that seemed at least in color, out of harmony with his character…at least his ‘for the world’s benefit’ persona.   ‘’Oh, you know you like a bit of teasing Brad,’’ he murmured, taking a bite of his dessert and closing his eyes in an apparent bliss at the taste.

 _Yes_ , I _do_ _Chester_ , I thought _, but I wish we could get to a place beyond that…_ more _than teasing…_

‘’Oh my fucking god!’’ he half moaned half exclaimed, putting the other half in his mouth, and moaning in a way that made my cheeks go as pink as the macaron.

Chewing, swallowing, he allowed his eyes to come half open, selecting another delicate pink morsel.

‘’Brad you have to try one of these…they’re….they’re seriously… _orgasmic!’’_

Is it totally pathetic that I sort of resented the macarons?

‘ _’Mmmm_ …’’ murmured Chester, taking another bite…’’wow…how did I never know about these before? Who needs crack? I’d happily OD on these…’’

It’s meant to be funny of course. Meant to be a sarcastic joke. But I find nothing funny about it. He has no idea, or pretends not to--even though he should, as the one it was happening to—how close he came to doing just that, in those darker early years.

Thankfully, lost in his ‘macaron orgasm’ he doesn’t notice the shadow that crosses my face at the memory.

I arrange my features back to my usual calm, laced, because of this moment, with amusement, that is both actual and for his benefit.

Accepting his offer, I take one, and find that he’s right, it’s good. Though I don’t moan. He only laughs lightly at my subdued reaction, and takes another, for the moment seemingly utterly content.

And that is something that pleases me more than any macaron, or anything else could.

‘’So, don’t I get a taste?’’  Purrs Chester, nodding at my plate, a cute grin on his lips; I take a forkful and hold it out across the table to him.

He takes it, slowly pulling the bite off my fork, lingering a little longer than needed. ‘’Tasting for my saliva or something?’’ I surprise myself with the question.

Chester grins, then gives the fork a suggestive lick, before settling back in his seat. ‘’Yeah, and it tastes better than chocolate,’’ his tone is almost husky, and my cheekbones burn as a result.

‘’Hey, you brought it up,’’ he says, taking another sip of coffee.

Yes, I had, and I was quietly pleased with myself for doing so.

We finished up in companionable silence, only making comments on the most mundane.

Chester rose, reaching for his wallet, pausing as I placed my hand on his arm. ‘’I invited you, I’m buying.’’

‘’Thanks Braddles, you’re such a great date! I’m sure I’ll find a way to repay you,’’ his voice took on that suggestive note again, and I smiled shyly in response.

‘’I’m sure you will,’’ came my quiet reply, taking my turn to give him a pointed look, which made him grin.

…

“So, what are we going to do now?’’ Chester asked, taking that accursed silver lighter out of his pocket, clicking it, and holding to the cigarette lightly gripped in his lips.

We were standing outside the _patisserie_ —having been sent off with many a ‘merci’ by the still giggling, and apparently enamored teen girls—I gave him what I knew was a quietly disapproving look, annoyed that with his sunglasses back on I was unable to see, by his eyes, if it had any effect on him.

Slipping the lighter back into his pocket, he took a drag, exhaled, and lightly flicked the ash from the tip.

Sighing inwardly as he took another drag, and with the silence hanging, I finally responded. ‘’I don’t know, do you want to go back to the hotel, or hang out for a while?’’

He took a few more puffs, ‘’well, there really isn’t anything to do at the hotel, so I guess hanging out might be fun.’’

…

It takes a while for us to decide what to do, and longer to locate, what I think is the correct train. Getting to the station, or perhaps, _thorough_ the station was a bit of a trick as well. It was pretty crowed I suppose, but it was a fact that I hardly paid attention to, until I felt Chester’s hand clamp like a vice over my forearm. Surprised, I looked sideways at him, alarmed to see the almost stricken look on his face.

Then I remembered, feeling like an idiot. Chester had anxiety in crowded spaces; which was somewhat ironic, considering he could perform on a stage in front of massive crowds, but would likely die of a panic attack if the roles were reversed to being that of the spectator, rather than the performer.

‘’It’s alright,’’ I murmured, steering us toward the platform to wait for the train which I hopped would take us to the Louvre. He followed my lead, which wasn’t too hard, as he was latched to my arm. I listened with nagging anxiety of my own to his ragged, shallow breathing, as his white-knuckled hand dug painfully into my forearm.

Covertly I reached across myself, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. Rewarded, when after a few minutes, his grip loosens, and his breaths gets a little deeper, and less strained.

As the train pulled in with a momentary whooshing of air, slowly creaking to a stop with a moan of breaks, I positioned Chester in front of me, steering him subtly through the door, making sure to keep in contact with him, without looking like I was doing anything but maybe walking a little too close behind him.

No one embarking or disembarking seemed to notice. 

Playing the gentleman, I let him play the lady, and gave him the seat. He sat with his legs spread, and a private, yet calculating look on his face, as he gazed up at me, where I stood, strap-hanging, positioned between his legs. I could feel his eyes raking up my form, as I pretended to be preoccupied with keeping track of where the hell we were, in an attempt to not miss our stop.

I’m flattered, at his interest, his gesture; but mostly relieved that he seems calmer and more relaxed now. I mentally kicked myself for, despite my adoration of Chester all these years, knowing so little about how to soothe him, or even being aware of his lingering fears.

Of course, with Mike’s mothering, it wasn’t really my fault for not knowing. For only ever, before now, playing a sort of support role, watching from the sidelines, like the other guys. Only, unlike them, I was in love with Chester, was invested in him, as it were, and therefore, Mike or not, should have made a greater effort to notice, and be prepared.

‘’I’m alright Brad…’’

I looked down at Chester, who was looking at me with what might have been a mix of embarrassment, and disgust at himself.

‘’I’m sorry I…’’ he began, before I quickly cut him off. ‘’No, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re feeling better now. Tell me next time, alright?’’

‘’Alright…’’ he whispers, still seeming to mildly loath himself.

We looked at each other for a few more seconds, before, with the ghost of a smile Chester looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. And I went back to keeping track of where we were.

As it turned out, I was wrong about the train, and with carefully, I hoped, suppressed rage at myself—mostly for the discomfort it would, and was causing Chester—we were forced to take two more trains, and make several more journeys across metro stations, which were all pretty crowded, before at last, I got us to the correct train.  

…

It had been a risk coming here, especially after the incident in the station; but to my utter amazement, the place was actually pretty empty. I was almost more astounded that Chester had wanted to come here, than us magically not being recognized.

Maybe I’m being egotistical, assuming we’d automatically be noticed.

We strolled the galleries, taking in the breath-taking array of masterpieces. They put any ‘art’ Mike and Joe produced to utter shame. Don’t get me wrong, I love both of my friends’ art, but compared to this, their work looked like nothing more than childish scribbles.

Glancing away from the piece I was currently being wowed by, (a young woman in a sheer white dress, with a basket of flowers over her arm; with sumptuous detail throughout) I see Chester half way up the gallery ahead of me, standing seemingly transfixed before one of the larger full body portraits.

Interested by what had so fully grabbed his attention, I moved to join him. Once I was standing at his side, I cast my gaze to the picture within its gilded frame. My eyes widened slightly, as a smile tugged at my mouth.

The subject of the painting was a young man, who according to small plaque was some Spanish Lord who’d been alive in the 16th century. But all that was hardly of any importance.

My eyes settled once more on the face. It was a face which was very familiar, one which I had gazed longingly at all through our trip to the _patisserie_. Now, I’m not saying I believe in that whole doppelganger theory, but seriously, this guy could’ve been Chester in another century, or Chester could have been him, whichever.

He’s been painted with smooth, milky pale skin, a little more color in his cheeks than Chester ever has, which makes him appear healthier, and more robust than Chester ever does. He has the same high cheekbones, and sharp, authoritative nose. And the eyes, they are exactly the same. Dark, dark brown, so dark they appear black. They sit in his face like coals, sharp, penetrating, and very regal in their gaze.

‘’So _this_ is why you wanted to come here,’’ I lightly joke, ‘’you should have just said you wanted to visit your picture. Nice silk tights by the way.’’

‘’What are you talking about?’’ mutters Chester sounding slightly irritated, which confuses me.

‘’The dude in the picture,’’ I gesture with a nod of my head, ‘’he looks just like you.’’

Chester looks over at me, then up at the painting, then back at me, one imperious brow arched. ‘’He looks nothing like me,’’ comes the scoffing protest.

‘’Right,’’ I say sarcastically, folding my arms, ‘’that’s why you’ve been staring narcissistically at him for like the past five minutes.’’

Chester narrows his eyes at me.

‘’We should get you an outfit like that,’’ I continue teasingly, still trying to lighten Chester’s suddenly snippy, strangely edgy mood, ‘’It would be a hit on stage. Even more than that time you, me and Dave pretended to be ‘metal’ guys back in ’01.’’

Relieved when I get a faint grin out of him, either because of the memory or my suggestion I’m not sure.

Chester looks back at the painting, and something finally clicks into place in my mind, just as he speaks: ‘’I’m not that good looking. I mean, even in his silly clothes, lace, tights and bows, and whatever, he looks better than me.’’

‘’That’s not true.’’ I state my disagreement firmer and louder than I intend, which makes my cheeks grow a little warm; especially when Chester looks at me in surprise, and then with that all too endearing little smirk.

‘’Aww, Braddles thinks I’m _hot_.’’ He purrs, linking his arm through mine, and rubbing his head against my shoulder, as though he were a pleased cat.

‘’Yes, I do,’’ I say sharply, ‘’so do millions of other people.’’

‘’I don’t care about the millions…’’ he breathes, as he detaches himself from me, ‘’only one person’s opinion matters,’’ he tosses me a teasing grin before continuing up the gallery, ‘’ and they’ve given it pretty clearly…’’

I watched his retreating back for a few seconds, feeling pleased.

…

When Chester tires of quietly partaking in cultured pursuits—which takes less than two hours after arriving—it is approaching lunchtime, and I for one, was feeling pretty hungry.

Collecting him—from where he’d slipped outside to smoke; I’d been in the bathroom for a moment—I suggested we find someplace to eat. He agreed, the only stipulation being that we didn’t take the train. That was understandable, even if it gave me an extra pinch of guilt for my blunder that morning; both in being vacant about his anxieties, and in my ineptitude at navigating the metro.

I assured him we could probably find someplace close; while at the same time warned him we would have to take the train again to get back to the hotel; but that I knew now exactly which train we needed.

He grimaced a little, taking an extra- long drag, but then nodded, seemingly assured.

I covertly watched him finish smoking, as I wandered in aimless, loose circles, scuffing my shoes in the pale gravel from time to time. Thinking how he was shaving precious years off his life, damaging his health…

What a waste it was, shortening his existence in a world where so many people loved him…needed him even…

Where _I_ needed him…

At last, after an inevitable coughing fit, we set off in search of something to eat.

Like that morning, searching for a _patisserie_ , finding a café, was not hard.

We passed by several, before selecting one—which like the _patisserie_ —was cute yet somehow chic. It was also small, and quite busy. But once again, we went unnoticed, and somewhat managed to blend in.

The staff though attentive and polite, did not have the charm and delighted interest in us as Adele and Madeline had had that morning. Which though cute, had also been, at least for me, a little stressful, so I was just as happy for smooth efficiency, with no quirks, and smiles that were all too _knowing_.

‘’How’s your ankle?’’ I asked, setting my fork down, and once again mentally kicking myself for not wondering sooner, especially with all the walking we’d done.

Chester wiped his hands on his napkin, and finished chewing, offering me a shrug while I waited for him to swallow.

‘’It’s alright, maybe a little achy, but not really hurting or anything.’’

I inwardly sighed in relief, ‘’good.’’

‘’Must be because I had such a good _nurse_ wrap it for me…’’ teases Chester, looking at me from under his lashes, before taking another bite of his salad.  Once again stroking the toe of his boot against the side of my calf, while pretending not too; apparently engrossed in his food.

My face remains largely impassive, but I can’t quite keep the smile off my lips or the pinkness from my cheeks, especially as my mind treacherously conjures an image of _Chester_ in a delightfully obscene nurses’ costume…

I’m momentarily astounded by my thoughts, wondering at their origin. I’ve never really been into porn, or even anything kinky. Blushing deeper as the imaginary-fantasy Chester pouts, and lifts his skirt and crinoline teasingly.

I gasp softly, and quickly cover it by pretending to cough, as Chester looks at me, quizzical and amused.

Without meeting his eyes, I get myself back under control, and banish the image.

One step at a time; and since I’ve barely taken the first one, I am miles away from something like _that_ …if ever.

…

Chester seems easily receptive of me paying for lunch. As in, he doesn’t even bother to take out his wallet; slipping easily into the role of being indulged and pampered. Hardly surprising…he’s always been a bit of a diva.

After we leave, we walk the cobbled streets for a while, pausing from time to time to take a closer look at whatever catches our attention.

We wander through several outdoor markets, which have an almost overwhelming array of interesting things to look at: produce of every kind, fruit, vegetables, and nuts. All sorts of fish, meat, and of course a bewildering selection of breads and cheese.

I’d always liked the farmers markets back home, but anything California had to offer paled in comparison to this amount of variety.

Chester was enthralled, as he happily took samples that were offered to him, and gamely tried his best to communicate. And was, for the most part successful; his enthusiasm at the very least, charming the vendors. He was in his element, connecting with people, the same way he did with our fans, with various charity organizations and humanitarian groups…and really most anyone. And clearly, his ability to endear himself here was just as effective. 

I participated in the whole thing in an auxiliary role; allowing Chester the spotlight, as seemed only right, and because I didn’t want to be in it myself. Happily tasting anything I was offered, commenting when needed, and laughing appreciatively at how instantly adored he was; as he sportingly accepted any number of kisses to the cheek and hugs he was given in appreciation for his interest and keenness over one item or another.

At last we managed to peel ourselves away, and had nearly made it to the end of the market, when an elderly man playing an accordion stepped into our path; seemingly feeling left out in his opportunity to either get, or give attention, I wasn’t sure which.

His appearance also ended my role as being mostly a spectator, when he began to play a lively tune, and Chester unexpectedly seized my hands, and began to steer my in an improvised, yet waltz-like dance.

Stunned, I responded stiffly, until with a  kick to the shins—apparently Chester’s way of helping me loosen up—I managed to blank out how ridiculous the whole thing was…and actually sort of had fun. A feeling that was likely mostly there due to Chester’s infectiously excited energy by the whole experience.

When the last wheezing note ended, Chester swooped closer to me, and grabbing me by the shoulders, mock-kissed me on each cheek, adding to the clapping and apparent delight of our crowd of onlookers.

I was so stunned I hardly reacted or noticed. Chester withdrew, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, just like he would with Mike on stage at the end of a show.

How often had I watched this gesture and felt envious? Shaking myself out of my shock, I took the opportunity to return the action, settling my arm across his canvas-clothed shoulders; bending at the waist as he pulled us forward into a playful, cheeky bow.

Then, just as suddenly as it had all happened, he detached himself, and I watched as he pulled out his wallet, and fished out several bills, offering them to the elderly musician, rather than placing them into the velvet-lined case residing on the cobbled street, occupied by a rather meager assortment of coins and one or two crumpled bills.

He took them slowly, his gnarled hands peeling them apart froze, and he looked up at Chester in astonishment.

I quickly saw why: receiving two hundred euro from a couple of weird American’s was clearly something that never happened to him. Indeed, it was likely more than he would receive in an entire weeks worth of tips.

I smiled a real smile then; feeling relaxed, and bathed in that feeling of warmth that can only come from witnessing or participating in generosity.

‘’But... _Monsieur_ …’’ he protested in a rasping voice, as Chester smiled, and patted him on the shoulder, and walked away, before he could protest further.

As he offered a wave to those vendors and passersby who were still watching us, and the scene we were making, I added to the old mans’ shock, as I pressed a tip of my own into his other hand. Then turned away, and offered an ‘au revoir,’ to the general group of onlookers, before walking away, Chester following me, chuckling to himself.

We listened to the chatters and exclamations behind us, until we were too far away.

We strolled in companionable silence for a while, wandering back out onto a more main thoroughfare from the twisting side streets.  A little way along it, we came across an idyllic looking park; and still a little shocked from our impromptu adventure and…uh… _show_ , in the market; its calm seclusion was very appealing. And besides which, my short night was catching up with me a little, and I felt suddenly rather tired.

Chester agreed to  going and having a look, without complaint, and we roamed the manicured lawns for a while, quietly admiring the fountains, and flower beds laden with spring flowers of all types, until we came across a bench, out of the way of the main path, looking dreamy and serene in the greenish gloom created by the nearby trees.

I sat down on the smooth wooden slats with a grateful sigh, as Chester settled himself beside me.

‘’Thanks for playing along…I really had fun back there…’’

‘’No problem,’’ I answered quietly, my eyes already shut, my head leaned back and my legs stretched out in front of me.

‘’I’m sure my shin will recover too….’’ I quietly teased, making Chester giggle softly. ‘’I’ll have to kiss it better later…’’ he whispers, making my stomach clench with a prickle of warmth.

‘’I might just let you do that,’’ I say quietly, before yawing widely.

Chester scoots a little closer to me, and I settle my arm—which was resting along the back of the bench—around his shoulders instead.

He makes a soft, contented sort of sound, and then yawns himself; silence—except for the ambient nature sounds, and the quiet drone of the urban sounds beyond—falls.

 …

 

‘’Remember when you used to paint my nails?’’

My eyes come slowly open, a smile hovering over my lips. Yes, all those numbing hours on the road, trapped, or so it seemed in that wretchedly confining bus, all those years ago. One had to find creative, if inane means of amusement, when things like movies, Xbox and other games palled.

‘’Yes, I remember.’’

‘’You were the best at it.’’

_Was I? It was so rare that I got the chance. Mike—as in basically everything else—was the one who painted Chester’s nails._

‘’I was?’’

‘’Yeah, you always did the neatest job. Which is funny, right? You’d have thought, that as the ‘great artists’, Mike and Joe would have been better at it.’’

‘’Joe never painted his nails…’’

‘’I suppose not. Neither did Rob.’’

‘’I guess if the band had failed, you could have been like an aesthetician or something!’’ Chester laughs, turning his head to look at me with unveiled teasing.

‘’I guess…’’ I say slowly, humoring him slightly, ‘’but actually, I would probably have been a lawyer, like my parents expected me to be.’’

‘’A _lawyer_?’’  Chester sounds scandalized, like I’d admitted to wanting to be a hooker or something. 

‘’What’s wrong with that?’’ I ask, still confused at his horrified reaction.

‘’What _isn’t_ wrong with that you mean! I mean, yeah, you’re smart enough and all, but I don’t think you’d be aggressive enough…’’

‘’Aggressive?’’ I ask, half amused, thinking that Chester’s knowledge of lawyers comes probably exclusively from what he’s seen in media. Or…maybe not…he has been through divorce, and then the run around Talinda sent him on, when she tried to get a slice of his money, after she’d screwed him over.

‘’Yeah, I mean, those bastards are vicious. I don’t think you’d have been suited to doing that…to lying for a living…being cruel.’’

‘’Well, what about the 'defending those who need to be defended part?’'’ I countered.

‘’I suppose. Yeah, you’re good at that…’’ Chester agrees.

A flush of warmth fills my chest. And before I can think, or stop myself, I take his hand in mine. He raises his head, to look at our entwined fingers, then settles back again, snuggling a little closer to me.

‘’Well, if you ever want your nails painted again, I’d be happy to do it for you.’’ I say, bringing us back to where he’d started us.

‘’Really?’’

‘’Sure.’’

‘’You’re the best Brad.’’

_I’m glad you think so._

We rest on the bench in the shady, dappled light of some fabulously old oak tree for a while longer. The faint, sweet smell of spring blossoms and bulbs fills the air in a pleasant, calming way, as I feel myself happily dozing off. Chester’s fingers still entwined with mine.

‘’We could probably find somewhere you know…’’

‘’Brad..?’’

Hazily I blink, and turn my head to look at Chester with what I know is a puzzled expression. He smiles, and reaches up to straighten my crooked glasses.

The irony isn’t lost on me— not that he has any clue— how often _I’ve_ wanted to straighten _his_ glasses over the years, when they’d become crooked or off center for one reason or another. Nor does he have any idea how upset I was at first when he started wearing contacts most of the time.

Shaking myself back to the moment, and groping through my sleepiness to catch hold of the conversation thread, I try and arrange my face into a more alert appearance.

‘’We could probably find _what_ somewhere?’’ I ask, still perplexed.

‘’A store that sells nail polish,’’ explains Chester, looking at me like he’s worried about my sanity, like I must have recently received a blow to the head and lost my short-term memory or something.

I sigh inwardly. ‘’Oh. Yes, I suppose we could.’’

Chester is already on his feet, looking distinctly bouncy, reminding me sharply of my comparison between him and a Jack Russell.

With a tried, by not unhappy groan, I allow Chester to pull me to my feet (we’re still holding hands) and follow his lead from the seclusion and peace of the park, to the bustling street beyond.

…

The sun was beginning to set, and the final twilight glow was bathing the city in blushy orange light. A hissing, chilly breeze had also sprung up, making Chester shudder a little, half wishing he’d worn something warmer.

He rummaged through his pocket, his hand closing over the packet of cigarettes. Annoyed to find that after this one, he only had two left.

Glancing back at the small shop, checking Brad was still occupied picking the nail polish, Chester lit-up the slender white stick, drawing a guilty, but grateful lungful of calming chemicals.

Secure as he felt with Brad, it was a hard habit to break; just as so many others had been. A faint burst of anger washed over him, thinking of Mike, thinking of _that_ song…the song that had saved him…

How Mike had saved him, from himself, but couldn’t be all that he’d _needed_ , and wanted him to be.

Sighing heavily, and exhaling deeply through his nose, like a dragon, Chester tried to quickly steer his thoughts back to the fun, surprisingly romantic day he was having with Brad. It was almost like Brad was ‘courting’ him or something. Maybe not too surprising, Brad had always been a bit of a romantic. Chester smiled at the memory of being made, along with the other guys, to sit through romance movies which were always Brad’s pick, when he got the chance to on movie nights. Yes, two hours of ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ ‘The Notebook,’ ‘Titanic’ etcetera.

So, it was touching that now those romantic sentiments were being lavished and directed on him. Even if it sort of meant that he was assuming the role of the woman; but then, he always sort of did in relationships, even those that had been with women. 

Whoa… _’relationship_?’ Chester smirked at the notion, of how easily and naturally his thoughts moved to thinking like that, to contemplating him and Brad being ‘in a relationship.’

Pushing lightly from the brick façade, which was making him chillier by the minute, he turned to look at Brad’s progress. Seeing he was at the paying point, Chester took a final drag, and stubbed out his cigarette. Feeling all too femininely excited to see what colors and finishes of nail polish Brad had picked for him.

When Brad exited the shop moments later, Chester linked his arm through one of Brads, expressing his gratitude and enthusiasm, as he snuggled close to his side, as they walked up the darkening street. 

The younger man took it all in his calm, downplayed stride, but Chester knew he was secretly not-so-secretly pleased and touched by the gesture and the appreciation, even as he continued to moderate it all, as he steered the conversation to having dinner.

…

Chester insisted on having sushi, which isn’t my favorite, but he’s pretty hard to resist. I feel sort of bad now for criticizing Mike for indulging him. It’s just too damn easy to do.

Of course he would rather eat Japanese food in France; typical, but endearing.

I watch with quiet delight at his almost childlike excitement over his food; the way his eyes lit up, the way his face takes on a look of bliss as he eats his sashimi, his fingers carefully and elegantly handling the slender, glossy black chopsticks.

I pop a portion of grilled squid tentacle into my mouth, somewhat enjoying the chewy saltiness.

‘’This is _so_ good! I haven’t had sushi this good since leaving LA,’’ chirps Chester, happily tweezing up another vibrant orange slice of salmon and taking a bite.

I smile, I can’t help myself. ‘’I’m really happy you’re enjoying it so much.’’ And, I really am happy he’s enjoying it, that we’ve had such a good day together. In all the years we’ve been part of this band together, I’ve never spent this much time with Chester, certainly not alone like this.

‘’Mike never took me to have sushi. He hates it. Which is weird right? You’d think, not to be racist or whatever, but that since he’s like half Japanese, he’d have grown up with some appreciation for food from his culture.’’

‘’Oh, he doesn’t hate all Japanese food,’’ I say, having of course known Mike since junior high. ‘’But you’re right, he hates sushi, and certainly sashimi.’’

Chester shrugs, taking another bite, ‘’well, it’s his loss then. But, a huge point for you.’’ He smirks, giving me a sly wink, before turning back to anointing his salmon with soy sauce.

Leaving me to bask in what is still probably false hope.

The cuff of his jacket has ridden up slightly, and I can just make out the faint silvery-white lines, amongst and even through the tattoos.  All neatly stacked in orderly rows. It seems strange to me for a moment that they should be so neatly cut into his flesh. When gripped in that inner loathing, when screaming, and begging for release, that one who’d cut themselves for that relief, would do so, so _neatly_.

But that’s part of the whole point, isn’t it? Order is trying to be made; order, control in the face of utter inner chaos. So, why wouldn’t you cut neat little lines? It would add to the catharsis brought from the release of blood, the sting of pain; acting to numb, and cancel out the hell you felt inside.

I blinked, astonished at my analysis, wondering if it was remotely accurate.

My mind began to wander as I continued to gaze at the falsely benign looking lines.

He’d only done it once on tour that I knew about. Mike of course being the one who’d dealt with it, and likely the only one who knew if it’d happened more times.

…

  _It had been a particularly bad week for Chester’s binge drinking, and instead of coming with us to dinner one night, he’d elected to stay behind. I’d been worried, but said nothing, which I regret to this day._

_Mike on the other hand, had fretted vocally all through dinner._

_When we got back Mike was first into the bus. Joe had dropped his phone, and was having a fit, while Rob and Dave helped him look._

_Leaving them to it, I was just walking up the steps to enter the bus, when Mike reappeared, rather roughly shunting be backwards. His expression was odd, and he looked pale._

_He’d informed us all that we would have to wait outside for a while, and before any of us could say anything, he disappeared back into the bus, and locked the door._

_Stunned, we’d all exchanged puzzled looks, before our attention had been diverted by the sound of raised voices._

_Chester was yelling, screaming really, crazed shrieks, and swears.  And Mike, very out of character was shouting back, shouting him down._

_After a while, things got quiet, and after that, the only sound, was Chester’s anguished sobbing._

_At that point I remember meeting Dave’s eyes, and exchanging a knowing look._

_He’d been drunk out of his mind again…and done something to himself._

_I silently berated myself. I should have stayed behind, or made Mike stay behind…he’d not wanted to go in the first place._

_Gradually the sobbing became inaudible, and then, a little while after that, the door opened with a click, but Mike didn’t linger, or explain anything. He probably couldn’t. Besides, there wasn’t really any need to._

_The air in the bus smelled odd, a mixture of something metallic and some harsh cleaning agent. It was quite nauseating, worse by far than the reek of sweaty laundry and the general musty smell of too many people living too close together for too long._

_The curtain to the back of the bus was drawn, and I could only assume both Mike and Chester were back there, since their bunks were empty._

_The other guy’s gradually relaxed, or at least pretended to, and we all eventually went to bed._

_Pretending that there wasn’t a feeling of tension so intense it seemed palpable. Pretending that we weren’t all worried about Chester. Pretending that Mike had things under control, that he was even remotely qualified to deal with something like this._

_Pretending that what we’d all smelled when we’d entered the bus hadn’t been blood._

_In the morning—after a largely sleepless night—I woke before everyone else, and shuffled my way to the kitchen looking for some water. I had a slight, uncharacteristic headache, and an unusually dry mouth. I was grateful therefore, to find in the small fridge several bottles of water. Water from the tap never tasted very good._

_The air in the bus, besides its general stuffiness, still smelled slightly of that disconcerting metallic odour. I shivered trying not to think about what Mike had found when he entered the bus, while feeling guilt anew at the same time for not being able to help Chester somehow._

_As I unscrewed the top, I gazed down the narrow passageway between the bunks, my eyes falling on the curtain still drawn across the doorway to the lounge. There hadn’t been a sound from back there since Mike and Chester had secluded themselves last night._

_Half lost in my thoughts, and still a little muddly with sleepiness, my fingers fumbled the bottle, and I dropped it, water splashing across my feet, and over the floor._

_Cursing quietly, I bent to quickly pick it up, grateful that not too much had spilled. I drank what was left, feeling slightly better for my tongue not wanting to stick to the insides of my cheeks, and the roof of my mouth anymore._

_Gathering a fistful of paper towels, I bent over once more to mop up the spilled water. With the wadded mess of soggy paper towel in hand, I opened the door under the sink to throw it in the trash, and froze._

_The garbage bag was stuffed to overflowing with wads of blood-soaked paper products, likely an entire roll of paper towels._

_I was riveted to the grisly scene. The horrible, still faintly pervasive metallic sent becoming nauseatingly stronger mingled with the sickly harshness of bleach._

_Snapping out of my horror, as I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head, taking in Mike. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, and a grim aspect to his normally sunny demeanor._

_We regarded each other silently. Until he pushed gently past me, taking the wad of sodden paper towels from my hand, placing them in the garbage and then pulling the whole bag from the holder, tying it shut._

_I watched as he slipped on shoes, and silently left the bus._

_So, we would keep pretending. Keep hoping that Chester would somehow turn himself around, or that one of us would somehow hold the key to help him do that._

_I wondered, at the time if that would be Mike, or someone else. I doubted it would be me, even though I wanted so much to help._

_Catching movement again, I watched the curtain to the lounge flutter, then move to the side, admitting Chester into the hall. He looked deathly pale, like a ghost in tangible form. Glancing up, his gaze met mine. He squinted, trying to focus without his glasses on. Slowly, he walked forward, toward me. His movements so light he seemed to glide, or float forward._

_The small distance seemed to take him an age to cross, until he finally stood in front of me. His bleached hair stood in ragged tufts, and disorderly swirls, his eyes looked red and bloodshot, and I couldn’t help but notice the improvised bandages wrapped and securely taped around his wrists, and in patches on his inner arms._

_A little mewling whimper made my attention snap back to his face. I watched his dark eyes fill with tears, and he seemed to shrink in on himself. My heart broke, I blinked back tears of my own, as I extended my arms, wrapping him securely, pulling him close. He melted into me, burying his face against the hollow of my neck._

_I let my eyes close, resting my cheek against his hair._

_I wanted to somehow let him know it was alright. That I would be there for him, whatever he needed. That he wasn’t alone…_

…

“Brad? You alright?’’

I shake myself from the grim past, bringing my gaze up sharply from his wrist to his face, a face which, despite all he’s been through since that morning, all those years ago, is so much healthier looking. A face which has color, and life in it, rather than hopeless gauntness.

‘’Yes,’’ I murmur, wishing I could express to him how grateful I am that he decided to stay in this mortal existence. That we, collectively with our support, the music we all made together, this journey we’ve shared, helped that be possible.

Chester still looks a little concerned. I hastily blink, finding my eyes are a little wet with tears. ‘’I’m fine,’’ I insist softly, letting my hand lightly creep over to his, gently settling over it. ‘’I’m just so happy to be here, with you.’’

Chester relaxes, and gives me a warm, satisfied looking smile. ‘’I’m glad to be here too.’’ He whispers.

…

When we get back, it’s late, and I know Chester is tired. For that matter, I’m pretty tired too, due to my largely sleepless night; despite the rest we took in the park.

I send a quick text to the guys, letting them know we got back safely, and to find out where they are (Chester knocked on Mike’s door, and got no response, which panicked him.)

‘’Well?’’ Chester asks, standing in the doorway to the bathroom (he’s just washed his hands). I glance over at him, from where I’m sitting on the edge of his bed.

‘’Well, everything is fine. They all went out to dinner, Mike included. Apparently he’s feeling better. Rob just texted me; they’re all at a show now.’’

Chester’s anxiety seemed to evaporate and he flopped onto my bed with a laugh. ‘’I bet they’re at the Moulin Rouge…’’

 I smirked. ‘’Probably…’’

‘’Didn’t they wonder where we were all day?’’ Chester asks, like the thought has just occurred to him, that no one seemed to care that we said we were going for coffee, and came back hours later.

‘’I texted Phi earlier, and said we were going out for the day.’’

‘’Oh…’’

There is silence for a few minutes, as I textually converse with Rob a few more times.

‘’Come snuggle me.’’

My thumb stutters over the key display; sending a very interesting, incomprehensible ‘we’re about to crash in for the nigjkllkjh’

‘’Braaddd…’’ he moans, his voice sounding a little muffled.

The breath catches in my throat. My chest feels tight…

I glance down at the screen, unable to focus on Rob’s ribbing inquiry to my ‘nigjkllkjh.’ I quickly type a corrected ‘night’ and turn off my phone. I’ll tell him the battery died if he asks later…

Chester is lying on his stomach, following me with one dark eye as I rise from his bed and walk over to mine.

I lay down on my back close beside him, close enough that our thighs are touching. It’s not really snuggling, but he doesn’t object. Silence falls between us. I let my eyelids droop…

‘’I haven’t been laid in ages.’’

The comment seems to come out of nowhere. My eyes snap open. I don’t know how to respond. I wait for him to continue, my heart starting to involuntarily pound.

‘’What about you? When was your last _really_ good fucking Brad? He asks, rolling onto his back now, mirroring my position. Our bodies are touching now from shoulder to ankle.

I continue to struggle with how to reply, swallowing dryly as Chester strokes his toes against the back of my foot, slowly, suggestively…

At last, as the silence begins to drag, I opt for honesty.

‘’It’s been a while,’’ I admit quietly.

I get a soft laugh in response. I feel my cheeks begin to burn.

‘’Why’s that Brad?’’ He pushes, ‘’I’m sure they’re lots of girls who’d go for you! What’s your type, maybe I could help you out.’’

His foot continues to caress mine. My heart keeps pounding.

When I don’t answer, he continues, his voice taking on a decidedly teasing, almost taunting tone:

‘’I knnnoowww…’’ he muses, ‘’back in the day I seem to recall you were pretty goo goo over Brittney Spears. So, you’re looking for some nice blond, preferably not as crazy as Brittney—or maybe you like crazy? Anyway, some hot chick, with blond hair, and brown eyes, and big tits…’’

As he talks, I feel the flush fade, and my lips settle into a smile. He’s baiting me. He _knows_ …or at least suspects.

I slowly reach over, and clamp my left hand gently, but firmly over his blathering mouth.

I sense his confusion and his amusement, and maybe, anticipation. His mouth is warm on my hand and a little moist in the closed space.

I gather myself. He’s giving me a chance, the perfect opportunity. It’s now or never.

‘’Brittney is not my ‘type,’’’ I say firmly, ‘’In fact, there isn’t any _woman_ I consider my type,’’ I let this hang between us, hoping to convey the weight of my meaning; to confirm what I suspect he has already guessed; where he is already going with this…

His lips form into a smile against my palm, then press into a kiss, before he softly mumbles, a stifled, ‘ _’I_ _know…’’_

Rolling onto my side, I remove my hand from over his mouth. Our eyes lock, and as I gaze into those dark, liquid onyx pools, the emotion and softness I see looking back at me melts my heart, while also emboldens me.

His skin is smooth and remarkable soft, just the way I imagined it to be, as I lightly caress his cheek. I make gentle strokes with my thumb, our eyes still connected; as I silently ask permission, begging his compliance, promising my sincerity…

I slide my fingers slowly up, and into his dark, velvety hair; hair that I’m happy is a little longer at the moment. He sighs appreciatively, letting his eyes fall partially shut, as he leans into my touch.

Turning his head a little, he presses his lips to my wrist, then the inside of my forearm, leaving soft, tentative kisses, as my fingers contract against the fuzz at his nape in response.

 My heart his thudding almost painfully in my chest, and I hardly dare to breathe, to believe that this is actually happening. It’s so surreal.

His softness, his timidity and shyness is both erotic and adorable.

Pulling away slightly, I sit up, encouraging him to mirror my action. When he is kneeling, facing me, I caress his face again, this time with both hands. Our eyes meet again, and once more, I ask silent permission.

He answers with a soft blush, and a nervous, yet excited smile.

I move forward slowly, pausing, brushing the tip of my nose against his, hearing his breath hitch; he exhales my name in a whisper, making a jolt run up my spine, then straight down to my groin. I never thought I’d hear my name used in such a way, under such circumstances…and never by him.

He utters a soft, almost feminine moan, as I brush his lips with my own. His lips are soft, not like a woman’s but still very tender. Two or three soft, tentative, explorative kisses and he opens his mouth with a low whimper, his response becoming hungry, desperate.

Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him close, uttering a few moans of my own.

My mouth catches the corner of his, as I begin to trail kisses across his jaw, and down his neck, making him arch against me.

…

It was there again. That feeling of utter safety and security; he felt himself surrendering, easily, freely… _happily_.

He may have taunted Brad, but the truth was that he’d really not been laid in longer than he’d like to admit. But more than that was the fact that despite his longing for Mike, and a few other earlier impulses, he’d never actually been with a man before. Not unless you counted those dark days, in years past, that he’d have happily cut out parts of his own brain to forget…

So this then, was new, and frightening…and _thrilling_.

Brad would never hurt him. He knew, deep down no matter what, he would be safe.

…

Slowly, I let my hands slide down his back, cautiously letting them rove over his denim covered butt, squeezing gently. Chester gave a little squeak of surprise and then scooted a little closer to me, finding my mouth with eager kisses.

I wondered what was going through his mind, if he really liked this…likes _me_ …if I was doing a good job. It wasn’t like I actually had a lot of experience. This sort of thing, these sorts of attractions were frowned on, at school, in my family, and certainly religiously.

So, I’d only ever been able to experiment a little. I hoped it would be enough.

I slip my hands back up, and then under the hem of his shirt, eliciting a breathy gasp, as his fingers dig into my shoulders.

He shivers, and then trembles softly, as I work my way up his smooth, warm skin; feeling the lean muscles, and prodding bones of his spine and scapula.

‘’More,’’ he breathes, pulling away from my mouth, rubbing his nose against mine. ‘ _’More_ ,’’ this time his tone is a little harsher, more urgent.

Warmth stirs deep in my stomach, quickly seeming to coil and tighten into a pulse of lust, of desire, stronger than I’ve ever known.

We pull apart a little, and I slide my hands out of his shirt, curling my fingers around the hem instead. I hesitate a second longer, then pull up, stripping him of the thin cotton.

It’s really nothing new, nothing I’ve not seen before. Yet, it really feels like I’m seeing Chester for the first time…

He smiles at me a little shyly again; his cheekbones flushed a light pink, his eyes glittering.

I pull off my own shirt, feeling more nervous than he looks, but manage to maintain the illusion of control, of calm.

Chester reaches out, lightly stroking his fingers over my bare chest; over my nipple, over my ribs, settling them at my waist.

I know I’m not much to look at; pale, really thin, not a muscle to be found, but somehow, with the way he’s looking at me, it seems that he sees something else entirely…

‘’You’re pretty…’’ he whispers, making my cheeks warm, as I think that he’s wrong. _He’s_ the pretty one.

I patently allow him to explore my body…even though his gentle, almost worshipful touches are driving me crazy, making me painfully hard. I curl my fingers into the duvet, until my knuckles are white.

He needs this time, I know he does. Despite his actions, his ‘flirting’ I doubt he’s been with a man before…other than in that dark time…those evil years of abuse.

So, I will be patient, let him take all the time he needs. I won’t force him to do, or not do anything.

…

Brad’s milky skin was soft under his lightly trembling fingertips. Chester took a deep breath, then looked up at Brad’s face, his expression was neutral, as he regarded Chester with soft, dark brown eyes.

Chester raised his right hand, letting his fingers explore Brad’s full lips, his thumb brushing against the neatly trimmed mustache. A breathy exhale escaping as Brad lightly kissed his fingertips.

Smiling, Chester abandoned his exploration, and replaced his fingers, with his lips.

…

As his lips met mine again, I could sense a shift in his energy. He felt secure, he was excited, he was happy, he wanted this…he wanted me…to share this, share himself with me; his kiss, his urgent groping hands, spurring me into action, giving me final, full permission to act.

I knelt, placed my hands on his hips, hooking my fingers into the loops on his jeans, pulling him gently into a mirroring position. It was a tight, poky fit with his studded belt. But I ignored this, the belt and hopefully the jeans would be coming off soon.

His arms were wrapped around my neck, his mouth desperate, as once again, I pulled away a little, as my hands drifted to his waist, to his belt buckle.

‘’Nnnngg…Braddd…’’ he moaned softly, half whine, half frustration, his forehead resting against my shoulder, as I unbuckled his belt, and moved on to the button, then zipper on his jeans.

‘’Easy, ‘’ I murmured, sliding the tight denim from his slender hips, revealing red underwear with black stars.

‘’Be patient,’’ I cooed, placing a soft kiss to his nose, as he raised his head, eyes seeming even darker somehow, hot with desire, with anticipation.

‘’I want you to enjoy this, I want to admire you…’’

He smiles at this, but I can still feel his urgency, his body seeming to radiate eagerness, passion.

‘’Lie back,’’ I say, waiting for him to reluctantly comply. Warmth fills my chest at the thought that he is loath to let go of me.

He reaches for me, his face falling in confusion as I get off the bed instead. He opens his mouth, brow furrowing…

‘ _’Patience_ ,’’ I whisper again.

There is no way I’ll let this moment be ruined by one of the guys or anyone else, bumbling into the room. I hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outer handle, knowing we’ll likely be razzed for it, but not giving a shit.

Then I shut the door again, making sure it’s shut, and locked. We’re as alone, and private as we’re likely to be.

I draw the curtains, leaving the room in soft, golden light from the lone beside lamp. Moving to stand at the side of my bed once more, I unbutton my jeans with trembling fingers, and locking my gaze with Chester’s, slowly pull them down and off.

He reaches for me again, as I kneel on the bed in my blue plaid boxers. His fingers sink into my thick, curly hair, and I allow him to pull me down for another kiss, as he caresses, and strokes his other hand over my naked back, to the waistband of my boxers, pausing, then slipping in under the elastic.

My lips move hotly against his neck, over his collarbone, as I work my way down to his chest. His exploring hands slide back up, resting, contracting over my shoulders.

His eyes are closed, lips parted, moaning softly, squirming delightedly with each kiss, each caress I give him.

I reach his waist, and kneel, making him release his grip on me. His eyes come partly open again, as I slide my hand over his toned stomach, leaning forward, placing a kiss under his navel, before tugging on his pants. He lifts his hips, allowing me to peel them off. He kicks them the rest of the way off, before I nudge his legs apart, and settle myself between them.

Giving me that tender, trusting look again, before I bow my head, and begin to lavish kisses to his stomach and chest. His body arches against me; he moans softly, sighing appreciatively. My mouth closes around his nipple, licking it to a puckered, hardened nub, before I nip at it lightly, causing him to squeak softly again. I give it another kiss, before moving up to his long, elegant neck. He arches his head back, gasping breathily at my kiss.

I trail my tongue against the soft, pale flesh, tasting his sweat, filling my senses with him. Still feeling a little dazed that this is actually happening. Relieved that he seems to like what I’m doing, that he’s comfortable with me; that I’m maintaining my composure.

Casually I let my hand drift down his body, until I reach his underwear. I slowly stroke a finger against the elastic, waiting, testing.

Raising my head from where I’d been administering kisses to his neck and clavicle, I wait until his eyes come hazily open.

His brows draw in confusion, or maybe unease.

 Maintaining eye contact, I cautiously slip my hand further down, over the heat and hardness between his legs. The thin cotton the only barrier between us; I feel him tense slightly, as I lightly palm him. My heart sinks. I’ve overstepped…he’s not ready…

‘’Yes…’’

The softly uttered word surprises me.

‘’A-are you sure..?’’ I whisper, ‘’you can say no…’’

Chester shakes his head subtly. ‘’I want this Brad…’’ As if to emphasize his point his hips buck up, lightly grinding his erection against my hand.

I place another kiss to his lips before moving myself down his body. Kneeling over him, leaning forward, ghosting kisses over his thigh working my way up. Nuzzling against his erection, then placing slow, teasing kisses through the cloth. His sent, that mix of musk and cloves, filling my senses.  With my fingers hooked into his waistband, I begin to gently pull down. Smiling when I see how erect he is; but not letting myself get smug, and attribute it too much to what I may have had to do with it.

I trace my fingers over the trail of downy hair beginning below his navel, pausing as my thumb brushes the side of his penis.

Chester props himself up on his elbows, looking down his body at me, as he bites at his lower lip, a worried draw to his eyebrows.

My heart sinks again slightly; he’s having second thoughts…he’s not ready after all… but I rein myself in, and maintain my outward calm.

I go back to lightly caressing the little trail of hair, in what I hope is a soothing manner, waiting for him to speak.

‘’What are you going to do?’’ His question is so soft it’s hardly a whisper.

We gaze at one another for a few long moments.

‘’What do you _want_ me to do?’’ I ask nearly as softly as his inquiry had been.

…

What _did_ he want him to do? Chester’s mind raced at the simple question. He tried to stifle the sudden upwelling of self-hatred he felt; the cloying fear, the doubt, the faded anxieties that were not nearly faded enough.

Yes, he felt safe with Brad. He wanted to share this moment…this opportunity…

He hated himself for, as he felt, ruining it, by being hesitant, by being overwhelmed by the clinging ghosts of nightmares past.

His mind seemed jammed, he couldn’t think what to say, couldn’t articulate what he felt or desired. Anything that did come to mind—flitting annoyingly by—seemed so vulgar somehow; which in turn was laughable, since when did he care about talking about sexually vulgar things?

Yet, somehow, the idea of asking Brad in any of the usual ways, to ‘suck me off,’ or ‘blow me’ sounded grossly out of place at the moment.

He looked at Brad, who waited patiently, gazing at him with soft eyes.

Reeling in his fears, and stuffing them away, Chester resolved himself, and said the only thing that seemed right:

‘’I…I want you to make me feel good…’’

It was the truth.

Whatever Brad decided, whatever form it would take, Chester trusted him.

With that, he settled himself back on the pillows, and let out a deep exhale, a smile curving his mouth.

…

It was a rather ambiguous statement, open to vast interpretation, but I was smart enough, I hoped to take it to imply that he wanted to feel pleasure, without anything weird, wild or scary to happen.

Fine. I could easily, I hoped, make that happen. Besides, _this_ was all way too new, too fragile for anything else.

Feeling that he’s settled, and is really committed, that he trusts me, I let my fingers cease their idle stroking beneath his navel, and travel further down.

I move them lightly over the contour of his erection, giving teasing strokes, listening to his initial gasp of surprise, then the low humming noise that follows. My fingers close around him, and I settle myself on my stomach between his legs; my own hardness straining against my boxers.

Whatever discomfort, or need I feel though, can wait, and can be ignored. This moment with Chester is crucial…

Besides, as far as I’m concerned, the hallmark of a good lover, one in the dominant position, is one who puts the pleasure and satisfaction of their partner over their own. Getting pleasure instead, or at least partially, from the fulfillment of their partner. And that was definitely what I intended to do with Chester now.

Gasping, then letting out a soft cry, Chester rocks his hips needily as my thumb continues to stroke him. I can only hope my next action is the right one. This is uncharted territory in a way, for both of us; my ‘explorations’ didn’t cover this, get this far. My main teacher was sadly, things I’ve read online; a theory only sort of situation.

For Chester…I can only imagine.

I shift my thumb to the underside of his shaft, as I carefully lave my tongue against the tip, tasting the salty, mildly bitter taste; a taste which is both strange, yet somehow exciting.

I listen as he lets out a hissing breath, his hands making fists in the bedding, as I take another, slower, firmer lick, bringing my lips together in a light kiss-suck action.

Exhaling deeply, I allow my eyes to drift partially shut, enough to get enjoyment—not that simply being in this situation  isn’t providing that—as well as to keep an eye on Chester.  His head is turned a little to the side while being tilted back, his teeth biting down on his lower lip, as he squirms and mewls at my ministrations. I smile against the velvety skin, feeling more assured.

My tongue makes slow, firm movements over him, before taking him into my mouth, and then pulling back, appreciating the hiss he makes, as the air cools my saliva.

I continue the slow, pleasantly teasing—I hope—actions, for a while longer, until Chester is squirming in an almost restless manner; his breaths ragged, harsh gasps. The grip he has on the bed linins tight enough to leave bruises had it been flesh.

Absently I half wished for those bruises…those badges of mutual ownership…

I know he’s close, so am I.

Grinding my painful ache against the bed, somewhat mirroring the timing of what I’m doing with my mouth; I quicken my action against Chester, using my thumb to make firm, rhythmic movements, matching his jerking thrusts.

With one last hard, spasmodic thrust, and a low moaning scream, he comes. The warm, bitter-milky liquid fills my mouth, and I quickly, automatically swallow it. The action seeming the most natural response, even if unfamiliar…

I jerk my hips a few more times, groaning out my own release, before shakily getting onto my knees. Chester gropes for me with wobbly arms, pulling me down, and close.

‘’Brad…’’ he whispers huskily…’’Brad…I…Io-…’’

‘’Shhh…’’ I murmur gently, placing a kiss to those soft, beautiful lips. I know what he’s going to say, and as much as it makes my already thudding heart beat harder…as much as I want to hear it, it is too soon…

Too soon for him to love me; it is enough for now, that he _thinks_ it… _wants_ it; the same way I both think it and want it.

So much can be conveyed silently, through actions; and I feel we’ve both spoken clearly enough tonight. There will be time enough to come for the emptier, verbal assurances and declarations of our feelings.

Quietly, contentedly, we lay half tangled, basking in the warmth of our afterglow. Our fingers interlaced and our bodies sticky with sweat. Eyes closed; hearts slowly calming. There is only this moment, and in it, only the two of us.

Tomorrow has finally come.

 


End file.
